


Paparazzi Have Hearts Too.  1/1

by punky_96



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 11:41:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13189344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punky_96/pseuds/punky_96
Summary: Re-post from LJ.Summary: Paparazzi Pete has a story to tell and he hopes that Miranda will provide the final chapter.Prompt: The idiom "There are none so blind as those who will not see. The most deluded people are those who choose to ignore what they already know." was not something freely attached to Miranda Priestly, and yet, this time, even She would have had to admit to the verity of those words.Generous Benefactor: Pdt_BearBeta:  Irishhusky.  Rock you, bb!





	Paparazzi Have Hearts Too.  1/1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pdt_bear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pdt_bear/gifts).



_**Paparazzi Have Hearts Too. Part 1/1.**_  
  
"There are none so blind as those who will not see. The most deluded people are those who choose to ignore what they already know." was not something freely attached to Miranda Priestly, and yet, this time, even She would have had to admit to the verity of those words.  
  
Staring down at the photo spread before her, she at last saw it all—forest, trees and one beautiful brunette nymph. The ever elusive perfection was clearly ready to bite her on the face, so she’d finally take notice.  
  
“Andrea…” She called out her heart beating in time with the sound of her approaching feet.

  
  
***** Rewind Time *****

  
  
“What have you got for me, Pete?” Reporter Rob greeted his old friend with a curious smile and a greedy leer as he spied the manila envelope tucked under his arm. The older man’s laugh made him tingle with anticipation. He motioned toward the conference room and they slipped in.  
  
Paparazzi Pete reigned in the kingdom of the paparazzi. He had been around long enough that it was joked he played Signore Paparazzo in La Dolce Vita instead of Walter Santesso. His hair now silver, still had that volume and shine, his cheekbones stood out against his drawn cheeks and he wore rings that glinted as he talked. His voice had tempered with age slowing a little and reaching a timbre that you could listen to, but he still had the fire and buzz of a mosquito on poppers. Going for the glam, he didn’t say anything to Rob as he laid the photos out to tell the story.  
  
Red lips, dark glasses, and a plunging neckline with smooth bared skin caught Rob's eyes immediately. The angles and classic style of the black and grey clothing reminded him of Audrey Hepburn. He wondered whose marriage she ruined, political career derailed, or if she liked the bad boys. He didn’t see any long sleeves covering bruises or track marks. Her hair was her own and her clothes were meticulous in photo after photo. Other than drawing his eye with her long legs and cupid’s bow mouth nothing shocked him. He glanced up at Pete wondering what he had missed. They were typical paparazzi shots coming and going from residences, restaurants, and even occasionally in casual clothes at a park with a dog. The dreamy look on Pete’s eye made him arch an eyebrow in question.  
  
“Pretty, huh?” Peter smirked at his friend's confusion.  
  
Rob looked down again at the pictures and wondered if his friend had finally lost it. He was disappointed. This was the man that had broken the Hugh Grant arrest wide open. He always won the betting pool on which of the next Disney superstars would go big, and with that which ones would totally lose their shit. He was like a barometer for scandal—no one understood how he worked, but he was always able to predict where to stand for the next great pictures. Looking again at the photos on the table, Rob noted that these had an artistic quality that he quite frankly didn’t need—especially if there was no scandal attached. Either that or his old friend was finally having the mid-life crisis he had avoided and was perving on this young girl, who as far as he could tell was glamorous, but not famous, and certainly not scandalous.  
  
He looked down at the pictures scowling, but keeping silent. Sometimes Pete liked a puzzle and when it finally dawned on you it was like a firework show. Rob put one hand on his hip and the other on his chin.  
  
Hands that had seen too much sun spread the photos farther apart and he carefully laid other photos in between them. It was like opening the refrigerator in a dark kitchen and Rob finally was illuminated. Pete had always had a thing for the New York Fashion Queen, Miranda Priestly. Her shock of silver hair, fantasy inducing body, and steady stream of scandal worthy divorces, liaisons (both personal and professional), and infamous political tactics within the world of fashion had kept more than one paparazzi busy for decades. Pete had fallen under her spell once when she had caught him alone outside a hush hush fashion shoot. Her eyes had lured him in, even as her words eviscerated him. He still got caught up in the moment when he told the story of her cold fingers on his hands as she took the camera from him. The look on his face gave his undying loyalty away when he described how fierce she looked pulling the negative right out of the film canister and letting it fall at her feet. True to her legend she had only said 6 words to him before walking away, “Find the line to stay behind.” The way he would tell the young over-eager guys that line; you knew it had become his mantra on the spot.  
  
Looking at the pictures now it was plain to see what had caught his eye, but with the new stories out right now he just didn’t see why Pete was following this lead. They had weeks of coverage with the madness of Charlie Sheen, revelations of Seacrest’s Secrets, and the hot backstage videos from the Hollywood set of Burlesque.  
  
“You always had a weakness for beauty, didn’t you, Pete?” Rob shook his head looking at the two women his friend had catalogued sharing a life together. It wasn’t as juicy as Seacrest’s coming out that was coming up, but it was the same kind of buzz. He could even see a few of the headlines and catchphrases forming in his mind, despite the dismissal he knew he was going to get.   
  
_Mr. Priestly—You Could Never Be Mr. Right_  
  
_Nothing you could do, buddy._  
  
_You just weren’t woman enough for her._  
  
_Priestly’s Piece of Perfection_  
  
None of them felt right. He pulled out a chair and sat down. The women were getting under his skin and he didn’t like it one bit. He was all about glamour, scandal, gossip, sneakiness, scoundrels, heartbreakers, and weakness. He knew that those were not always things held in esteem in society, and yet in his business people’s poor judgments and weaknesses were what sold papers which was what put a roof over his head. If he had to live on the edge of right and wrong to keep his family in the style they had become accustomed to, then so be it. He never told those people to seek out fame, and he certainly didn’t tell them to do things in public or semi-public that they would regret later—when their family, fans, and friendly judges found out.  
  
“You’ve been following them for weeks.” Rob observed as he reached for photo after photo letting the story of these women’s lives flow through the images.  
  
The chair scraped against the tile as Pete settled into the chair next to him. The story would be told and then Rob knew he would figure a way to share the beauty of this story for Pete. “I don’t think they know.” Pete said in a wistful voice as he leaned closer to look again at the picture in Rob’s hand. “She’s her assistant. You should see the disaster she was when she started at Runway.” He chuckled and Rob imagined him sitting at a family event watching his grandchildren playing and growing older right before his eyes. “Errands run solo, became things done together.” He reached for a picture of the brunette in casual clothes walking a giant dog. Miranda was visible in this picture, although in the first she wasn’t. Rob smiled as he realized that Pete had cropped the images to focus on the ingénue first. For the first time in many years he wanted to tell a story. “She hadn’t let her guard down yet.” Pete let his finger slide over Miranda pointing out her formal style still reminiscent of her fashion show work. “Then there were working dinners.” He grabbed a picture of the two ladies in a side table at Sangria’s. It was not a back table for romance, or a front table for publicity, or a center table to enjoy the lively atmosphere. It was just a side table and those were really notes, photos, and a laptop being worked on in the photo. “Then there were just dinners.” He pulled a photo of the two outside Cave. The shot showed two women standing close and sharing a private laugh meant for no one else. “Last week on Folly beach the shoot was a disaster.” He pulled a couple of shots from the limitless supply in the folder. They showed equipment blown over in the wind, models loitering, and there was one shot that sent a shiver down Rob’s spine of Miranda dressing down her art director Nigel Kipling. “It didn’t matter though.” Pete added as he slipped another photo out of the envelope. This time the two women were at the water’s edge—rolled up jeans, faded t-shirts, floppy hats, and large sunglasses. Pete had caught a rare look of joy on the editor’s face as she appeared to be pushing the half-terrified brunette further into the water. Rob tried to imagine where Pete had to be to catch the angle and how expensive the lens must have been. He couldn’t believe that the man had gone to North Carolina when he could have been at the courthouse catching prime shots of Paris Hilton at her arraignment.  
  
Rob let a low whistle slip between his lips as he looked at the picture. He hadn’t always enjoyed the stories he had written about the editor. Sometimes he thought she got as good as she gave, but sometimes he thought that she had been maligned a little extra for no particular reason. “What angle can we run these under, Pete?” He looked to his friend for inspiration—stories weren’t really his thing and he still needed to sell papers.  
  
“Sex, drugs and rock-n-roll sell papers, eh?” Pete laughed and rearranged the pictures on the table. Most of them he just gathered up and slipped back into his folder. “At their core all of those stories are about love—the sexy scandal that drives you to lose control, the drugs you take to chase the happy high or to obliterate the hell of an ending, and the good old good time being had in unexpected places.” He slipped out four pictures and laid them face down on the table to the left of his girls. “These women are at the edge of what can happen in any case and we love nothing more than hope here in America.” He flipped another four carefully selected photos face down in between the other face down selections and his girls. “Runway has it all.” Pete waited for the thought to sink in.  
  
Flipping over the first four photos Rob was brought back to the early days of the dragonlady. Models known for their bad attitudes, cocaine usage, and very public sexual practices surrounded Miranda at fashion shows. Those two shots were followed by more recent shots of the editor in the middle of a group of lingerie models with her art director. The wheels in Rob’s brain began to turn with longer stories that could be run on the website drawing more traffic to the webpage.  
  
The middle photos were revealed to show the allure of Miranda with her first and then second husbands the last two photos showed the men in their post-Priestly downward spirals including the new wife, extra weight, and general downturn of life. The twins were an angle that they could never use. Pete wouldn’t have it, but their father’s time in jail after the savings and loan scandals would be worth reviewing.  
  
“We like a happy ending for our first lady of fashion… We just didn’t know that’s what we were waiting for—neither did the public.”  
  
Rob didn’t see dollar signs yet and this was going to take up a lot of page real estate and require at least two of the staff writers—the good ones. “She’s not Diana.” He criticized.  
  
Laughing Pete shook his head. “No, she’s the dragon, not the princess.” He re-arranged the final four pictures of the ladies, then he let his hand rest on the close up of the brunette. “She’s the princess. Look at her.”  
  
When Rob didn’t say anything Pete reached for his folder again. “A hometown girl, New York’s undisputed queen, the American Dream, and all that pretty—you can spin this. So many demographics are here and there’s enough scandal because they work together, it’s new for Miranda, and she’s so young. Even more--it’s a happy ending that no one was expecting, if she can capture the dream. The mystery and allure will draw them in and the beauty will make them root for her.”  
  
Pete stared long into Rob’s eyes daring him to dispute the facts. He knew it wasn’t a shocker of a story, but he also knew that sometimes the public really could do subtle and go with it. Besides, he thought that in a way he might even help the woman that had long ago captured a part of his heart and definitely held his loyalty.  
  
“Diana wasn’t Diana over night.” Pete looked down at the photos of his girls. “In Britain she’s still not the Diana we have in our minds, you know. A lot of it can be created.” Pete smiled wickedly at Rob feeling that they were on the edge of something great. “Right here in this room.”  
  
Rob stood and walked to the windows in the wall looking out on the bustling cubicles of reporters and staff. He was starting to catch Pete’s fever. Turning with a wide smile on his face he said, “And with the election coming…” His mind really began to work. “All those gay marriage laws will be on the ballot.”  
  
Pete nodded with his friend and held up the beach picture, “We can create the royal gay couple of New York.”

  
**  
*** The Right Time *****

  
  
Chloe thought her thumb was going to fall off. She had sent out a text to all of her Runway contacts as soon as she hit the newsstand that morning. Red Alert didn’t seem like a high enough rating. Rupert Murdoch was surely going to be at the hospital with a heart attack after he woke up in his bed with a horse’s head. Page 6 had left Miranda alone after her divorce was finally over. It had been a quiet time, but stories were still told to all new Runway assistants so that they would always be prepared and know what to look for. It was their job to provide the first line of defense/interference and they had to deal with the disgruntled Priestly, so it was in their best interest. Other than being sighted with various celebs at events over the last couple of years, Miranda’s Page 6 life had been nonexistent. It was why Chloe found it all the more confusing that they had chosen to run three out of eight articles in the section about her boss.  
  
The blind side was annoying. A cancelled appointment, a bad run-through, a hurricane in Florida, the twins father calling each month—those events all had a bit of predictability and they had set measures in place as an assistant team for managing Miranda’s bad moods. Coffee, a bit of good news they had postponed bringing, and the diversionary tactics of new ideas that they constantly kept a file of in order to provide relief.  
  
This was different. It was respectful, even positive, but they were daring Miranda to be as happy as she looked.  
  
And the implication was that Andrea was the source of this bliss.  
  
Chloe couldn’t believe the implications. They had said that the world had better watch out because the dragon had found her princess to protect and there better not be anyone trying to set her free.  
  
Nigel had taken it in stride. He even told a side story about one of the models from the early days. When she asked him about the last article about the possibility of Miranda in love, he just shrugged, “Sometimes we forget to see the change within us because we are blind to the reality that what we know needs a new name.” Chloe wrinkled her brow, wondering if he had been up late with that little man from Dior with the big ears—for some reason she could only ever think of Yoda when she saw him. It made going to the showroom nearly impossible. Thankfully, Natalie was now competent enough to go, or Andy would even take pity on her and go. It wasn’t her job anymore, but she was in charge of the assistants and she did her best to make their lives more manageable.  
  
Thinking about it more and more, Chloe realized that Andy was already Miranda’s work wife. Her job had been created, so that she had time to pursue other writing, but could still be a part of keeping the editor’s office running at the level of efficiency she had come to expect. She knew that they did things together personally, but it just was part of everything else like the racks of clothing being moved, scantily clad models running around, and people pitching in to make all of their lives easier as they tried to deliver perfection on a plate each month for a boss that was never quite satisfied.  
  
Emily had come down to find Nigel and he had simply pulled her back to his office. Chloe didn’t know what her problem was really. She had been the assistant, but those days were long gone and now there was a team of three that managed things in a very different way than it sounds like things were run when she was the First Assistant. Chloe shrugged as she went into the inner office to set up for Miranda. She had always thought the woman was a little high strung and too attached to Miranda.  
  
The ding of the elevator signaled her editor’s arrival and Chloe felt the familiar flutters in her stomach. She wasn’t sure if she had done the right thing laying Page 6 on top of the other publications or not. Natalie gave her a quick hopeful smile before their day started in earnest. With the flop of her jacket and a few flung commands, the editor was upon them. Natalie hung up the jacket, while Chloe answered the phone and then they settled in.  
  
Half an hour (to the minute) later, Andrea Sachs exited the elevator. Her heart was pounding, but she had not survived the halls of Runway without learning how to keep her façade in check. She had the best teacher in the world. She just hoped that whatever Miranda’s reaction, she wasn’t terrorizing the girls too much.  
  
“Morning.” Her brown eyes sparkled as she greeted Chloe and Natalie. She began to check the listing for changes and stepped around behind Chloe’s desk to confer with her about the morning’s agenda and possible changes. They were just getting around to the possibility of calling Leslie when they heard Miranda’s quiet call.  
  
All three perked to attention at the sound like soldiers snapping to attention. Andrea smiled when it was her name softly called.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
“What do you think of these?” Miranda hummed.  
  
Andrea smiled as she looked at the beautiful woman she had spent so much of her life with the last couple of years. She hadn’t really ever considered the possibility of romance with Miranda, but seeing the story and pictures of them together was like a light being turned on in a dark room. It was her joy to find that the room was an amazingly beautiful one representing all that her life had become and could become. She had been filled with the certainty that it was all true even if she had not known it. She was certain that she glowed.  
  
Letting her hand lovingly caress their photo, Miranda smiled back at her.  
  
Andrea shrugged, “A picture is worth a thousand words.” She joked with a laugh as she came around to Miranda’s side of the desk. Miranda turned to face her, with her legs falling open as she did. Andrea stepped between them in some ways closer than she had ever been and yet somehow where she had always belonged. “But really it comes down to one word.” Miranda’s hands reached for Andrea’s as the brunette leaned forward to whisper in her ear.  
  
Chloe in the outer office snapped her pencil as she realized they had gone silent. She wished she had gone around her desk to peek, but didn’t dare get up now.  
  
A few minutes ticked by painfully slow and Chloe wished Natalie had been there with her for company. It was excruciating. She knew what the next picture should be in the spread and she thought they might be posing for it right now. She would never have thought it before today, but the image of their kiss was something that she wanted with every fiber of her being. She wanted Miranda to have someone to hold. Andrea’s happiness was something she strived for in her every move at work. Besides, she had always been a sucker for happy endings.  
  
Lost in the revelations of the morning and her sudden desire to see Miranda and Andy as the Runway power couple, Chloe didn’t hear the object of her thoughts approach. “Chloe?” The voice was low and had the barest lilt of a question. As her eyes locked with her boss’ blue ones, the editor continued, “Cancel my day.” Without another word or any suggestions for rescheduling, she stepped away pulling Andrea by their interlinked fingers.  
  
“And send a gift to Pete.” Andrea grinned over her shoulder as she allowed herself to be led away into the future.  
  
Sucking her teeth and rolling her eyes in the totally empty office Chloe couldn’t believe it. She had just witnessed something remarkable—she knew it. Sighing when reality hit her, she began to think of all the things she had to do. Smacking her palm to her forehead she exclaimed, “Who the fuck is Pete?!”  
  
Natalie arrived with a delivery of Starbucks only to find Chloe talking to herself. “Uh oh.” She cringed and set the coffees down. She grabbed Miranda’s cup by the heat sleeve and started to head into the inner office.  
  
“They’ve left.  We are to cancel the day.” She muttered. Chloe let out a mad bark of laughter at Natalie's shocked face.  “Right, you reschedule the run-through with Nigel. Call Serena and shift to Monday. I’ll take James and that photographer that we used two months ago in North Carolina.”  With that the bustle of Runway was diverted and the women sprang into action. Natalie couldn’t wait until things settled down to get the dirt.

  
  
**The End.**


End file.
